SMUT AHEAD
🅹🆄🅳🆈
"Happy Birthday, baby."
Isabella looks down at me, lying on the bed.Â
I look into her green almond-shaped eyes. Bedroom eyes as I like to call them. No matter how she is feeling, there is always something longing inside of them. Something sinful. Something tender.
Red painted lips are curled into a cheeky smile. The soft dimples are showing, making her cheeks appear full and supple.
My gaze wanders over the powdered straight nose until I'm back at her eyes.
"What are you looking at?" she whispers and I feel her breath stroking my skin.
"You."
"Gosh, you're sweet."
She pushes a strand of my hair out of my face. I take it into my own hand to look at it.
It's blonde. Now what does that mean?
I had dyed it brown when I moved to NYC, what is my subconscious trying to tell me?
